


Heavy

by rudbeckia



Series: Sugar Daddy Hux [11]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blackmail, Creepy Snoke (Star Wars), M/M, Murder, snoke dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: Ben Solo, persuaded by Armitage, accepts Snoke’s weekend invitation to his country house. Ben thinks he’s going to listen to a job offer and gather information useful to Armitage.Snoke thinks he’s going to get a man on the inside ofFirst Orderto help him bring Hux down so that he can take over.Only Hux and Phasma know what’s really going to happen that weekend. And it’s not looking good for Snoke.





	Heavy

Armitage sat at his new desk and regarded the faces on his monitors with cold detachment.  
“I said, _before Snoke died, he named me as his successor._ Which of my words did you not understand the first time?”  
The face on the screen twisted in anger. “You! You’re nothing but the useless bastard son of that other useless ginger bastard Brendol Hux! I demand to speak to—“  
Armitage touched a button and the screen blanked. Phasma, watching in another room, would already be launching a very thorough investigation into the dissenter’s business practices. It was inconceivable that the man was clean: he’d worked for Snoke. With a professional smile, Armitage made eye contact with his camera and therefore with all the other faces. “Well then, I assume you have all read the legal documentation regarding _First Order’s_ takeover of _Supreme Media._ Shall we get to work? I have an empire to manage and it is a heavy enough responsibility without petty, personal attacks.”

The conference took another two hours, after which Phasma came in with a list of names of those she thought would rebel against his takeover. Armitage read it over and nodded. “Make it look like I’m having a corporate clean up. Use phrases like _ushering in a new ethos of openness_ and _ethical practice_ and _financial transparency_ and _personal accountability._ How quickly can you have them gone?”  
Phasma pointed to a couple of names. “The end of the day for these two. The rest, give me a week. Do you want them to resign for _family reasons_ or do you want them in jail? That might take a little longer unless you authorise a few strategic leaks and promote that girl onto my permanent team.”  
“Well, some people have to be blamed and Snoke’s own media outlets demand a show. It may as well be...” Armitage pointed at three names. “That should be enough. Do what you think is appropriate. Yes, by the way. She was good.”  
Phasma nodded and turned to leave. She paused at the door and looked back. “How is he?”  
Armitage’s smile was genuine now. “Ups and downs but he’s good today. Recovering from his ordeal at the hands of the local constabulary, at least. He’s seriously considering that new identity you suggested.”  
“He should do it. Ben Solo needs to disappear.”  
“Well yes, but _Kylo Ren?_ Jeez, Phasma. Where did you find that?”  
“Oh,” Phasma laughed. “You don’t need to know all my secrets, do you?’

==========

“Shit, Armitage! I don’t have clothes for a weekend at some country pile!” Ben stared into his wardrobe. “I can’t go. I’ll give him some excuse. I mean, what even am I to that old bastard?”  
“You’ll go,” replied Armitage with a carefully calm voice. “And you will find out what he’s planning for _First Order._ Please, Ben, I need you to do this for me. Are you with me?”  
“Yes! Yes, of course. Okay. He sent me a text to say he’s sending a car. How the fuck did he even get my number?”  
“Can I see?” Armitage held out his hand for Ben’s phone. Ben unlocked it and handed it over. Armitage read the message and gave a soft _hmm._ “Can I give this to Phasma and give you a burner to use this weekend?”  
“What? I guess. Um,” Ben held his hand out. “Can I delete my browser history first?”  
Armitage laughed. “Yes, if it makes you feel better. Unamo will see whatever you’ve been looking at whether you delete it or not. But I promise she doesn’t care and she won’t tell.”

Ben packed with Armitage helping choose his clothes and offering a steady stream of advice and information that Ben did not absorb. Listening to Armitage’s reassuring, confident instructions made him feel calmer, and he said so. Armitage laughed.  
“Ben, you have nothing to worry about. Flatter him. Make him think you want to leave me and work for him.” Armitage cupped Ben’s face with both hands. “Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”  
Ben sighed at that. “Okay. I would like it on record that I hate this.”

As soon as Ben was whisked away in a car from Snoke’s personal fleet, Phasma pulled up in front of the house. Armitage got in the passenger side of Phasma’s tech van and handed Ben’s phone to Unamo who sat in the back. “Thought this might have some useful information on it,” he said. Unamo plugged it in to her laptop then nodded at Phasma.  
“Okay. Arm, get out. You need to be far away from this,” said Phasma, leaning over and opening the door for him.  
“No, I need to be there,” said Armitage. “Ben has no idea what’s about to happen. I want to be there in case he panics.”  
“If he panics that’s good!” said Phasma. “Adds a realistic, human touch. Get out!”  
“Phas—“  
“No.”  
“If this goes wrong and Ben’s arrested—“  
“Then you definitely need to be distant from it. Trust me, Arm. Trust Ben and Unamo and trust my girl on the ground. Go about your normal day. Go to the office. Take people out to lunch and to dinner. Pick up a handsome stranger and go home with them. Be seen.”  
Armitage sighed and put his foot on the gravel. “Okay,” he said. “I hate this.”

 

Ben gaped at the decor. Outside, the house was impressive with huge columns and wide steps leading up to ornate wooden doors. Inside, dim lighting, deep red carpets and carved mahogany panelling gave the impression that Ben had stepped into a volcanic cavern. He was, he was relieved to see, not the only guest. A red-uniformed servant took his bag and led him to a guest room then informed him that Snoke was waiting. Ben followed the servant back downstairs and walked through a door held open for him then firmly closed behind.

Snoke looked up from his laptop. He smiled and Ben wondered if his skin would crack and seep, or fall off as flakes and powder. “Ah, Ben, my boy.” Snoke’s voice, breathy and quiet, made Ben’s spine tingle in warning. “Come closer.” Ben stood in front of Snoke. “I am so glad you accepted my invitation. I half expected to hear that you had been persuaded to stay with Hux. You do understand why I invited you, don’t you?”  
“You said you would make me an offer. I assumed you meant a job offer.” Ben watched Snoke’s face despite his urge to look away. Snoke laughed.  
“Of course, my boy. I want to tempt you away from _First Order_ and find out all you know about them. I promise I will make it worth your while. But it would be rude to talk terms before dinner, hmm?” Snoke stood up and Ben stood back. “As you have seen, I have other dinner guests,” Snoke leaned close and Ben shivered. “But they are of no importance beside you. We will dine with them then retire for a private discussion.”  
Snoke gestured and the door opened. Ben’s chaperon waited to escort him back to his room and once there, Ben unpacked. In his bag he found a note from Armitage and a bottle of very expensive single malt whisky. He set the bottle on his nightstand and laughed at the note before crumpling it into the bin.  
_Pour some Dalwhinnie into Snoke and see if that greases his gears._

Dinner was tolerable. Snoke sat at the head of the polished dining table and engaged those nearest him in conversation. Ben was seated only just within earshot of Snoke’s favoured guests and was ignored by them. The staff member assigned to his part of the table knocked over his wine before he even tasted it, and cleared up while irritated guests tutted and scowled. Ben found himself murmuring _are you okay?_ to her. She nodded and, under cover of mopping up she slipped a small, plastic case into his pocket. _Unamo,_ she said, slipping the name into the middle of an apology as if that explained everything. Ben excused himself, telling his neighbours that he wished to change out of his stained shirt, and went to his bathroom. Once inside, he took out the plastic case, pulled it open and examined the contents: a tiny slip of paper and a memory card. He read the instructions on the paper over and over, and pocketed the memory card. To keep up appearances, he removed his pink-splashed shirt and rinsed the stain under the tap, dropping the paper into the plughole where it gradually pulped and washed away. He took out the card again and turned it over and over in his fingers, reciting the instructions from memory. All he had to do was slip it into the reader on the side of Snoke’s laptop and open one file. He could do that for Armitage.

When Ben sat down at the table again, the main course had gone and dessert was served with a small glass of golden, syrupy Sauternes. He sipped the sweet dessert wine and smiled as he mentally added its name to his dwindling list of pet names for Armitage. His server asked if he needed any assistance. Ben first shook his head then looked up and nodded. “Look, I know this probably isn’t your job, but I left something upstairs. Would you send someone to fetch it?”  
She smiled and nodded. “Of course, sir.”  
“There’s a bottle of malt whisky on my nightstand. It’s a gift for Snoke. Could you have it brought down for him?”  
“Yes, sir. I’ll bring it to his private study as soon as dinner is over.”

Dinner ended with coffee and Snoke’s abrupt departure. A few minutes after Snoke left, Ben’s red-vested chaperon appeared at his side and asked him to follow. Ben walked along the dim hallway to an open door, and found himself in Snoke’s private office. Snoke sat in an armchair. The bottle of malt stood on a table. Ben lifted it.  
“I brought you a gift.”  
“So I am told. That is a most generous gesture,” said Snoke with an expression that might have conveyed humour. “A surprisingly generous gift for someone in your position with _First Order._ Did Hux pay you a bonus for services rendered?”  
“What do you mean?” asked Ben. “I receive a salary for my work as part of the London legal team. He gave me that bottle as a gift to say thank you for influencing his investors to part with more money at the winter ball. But I’m more of a beer drinker and I though it too good to waste.”  
Snoke leaned forward. “Then pour me a glass of Hux’s whisky and sit down. We have a lot to talk about, starting with just how much it would take to pull you away from that arrogant weakling and his failing business. I could shut him down and give you no choice other than to come to me, but I would rather see him fight and lose, knowing that his current favourite betrayed him.”  
Ben settled deeper into character. He poured a generous measure of spirit into a glass and handed it to Snoke. “Oh, _First Order_ is not as weak as you think, sir. Hux has assets you are probably not aware of, and a particular way with his backers. They are loyal to him and I doubt you could automatically expect them to transfer their allegiance to you.”  
Snoke, stared intently at Ben. “You know a lot for a legal assistant. You’re new in Hux’s professional circle. Where has Hux been hiding you all this time?”  
“Nowhere.” Ben looked away. “I advise Armitage on—“  
“Ah! Ha! Armitage.” Snoke took a drink, raised his glass to Ben and drank again. “You must be high on his list of confidants. I will make you this offer: work for me. I will make you my personal assistant and train you in my empire. In exchange, you will be my eyes and ears inside _First Order_ from now until it sinks and I save it.”  
“And then what?” asked Ben, pouring Snoke another large measure. “What guarantees do I have that I will not, ah, go down with the ship?”  
“Yes or no, Ben Solo. This is not an offer I will repeat. Think about it.”

Snoke stood up and shuffled out. Ben leapt for the desk, opened Snoke’s laptop and tried to slot the memory card into the correct reader. He cursed quietly and pulled it out, turned it and pushed it in again. This time it worked. He unlocked the laptop with the passcode he’d memorised from the scrawl on the paper slip and looked around as the machine whirred noisily, heart leaping at the threat of being caught. He searched the names of the displayed files and double clicked the one he recognised, then closed the laptop and sat down.

Snoke reappeared after a few more minutes and handed Ben a document wallet. Ben flicked through its contents and looked up at Snoke. “Is this blackmail?”  
“Yes,” replied Snoke. “What did you expect? You know about Armitage Hux and his management of _First Order._ I know about _you._ Now,” Snoke sat and leaned forwards so that Ben could smell the whisky on his breath. “Let’s reach a deal. You do everything I tell you to do until _First Order_ is mine, and that,” Snoke pointed to the document wallet in Ben’s hands, “all goes away.”  
Ben closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and Snoke helped himself to his third glass of whisky. “Fine,” said Ben in a dull voice. “What do you want?”  
“Hah,” Snoke sat heavily in his chair and slurred a little. “You’re mine now. I always win.”

The cut-glass tumbler canted in Snoke’s slackened grip and his upper body slumped to the side. Ben frowned. “Snoke?” He leaned forwards and shook Snoke’s knee. The glass dropped to the floor and rolled away until it clinked on the hearth. Ben leapt up and away from Snoke. He ran for the door but stopped and turned back to pick up the document wallet. He shrugged off his jacket and stuffed the wallet down one sleeve, rolling the garment up to secure it, then opened the door and yelled for help.

 

In her hidden, mobile tech lab, Unamo breathed a soft _ah-hah!_ and Snoke’s security camera feed appeared on the screens. Phasma patted her shoulder. “Told you, babe!”  
“Hush. Lots to do.”  
Phasma sat back and watched Unamo work, her face lit by the glow of the screens and her hands tapping at the control panels. Soon she sat back and smiled.  
“Ready?”  
“Do it, babe!”  
“Already started. Takes a few minutes to rewrite all that memory over 4G.”  
Phasma laughed and clambered into the driver’s seat. “We should get out of here.”  
Unamo signalled when her job was done, shut down her computer and fastened her seatbelt as Phasma started the engine. They paused at the exit of the service track to pick up one passenger, then drove away. The passenger, a young woman dressed in a servants’ uniform with a claret wine-stain on one sleeve, gave Phasma a double thumbs up. Phasma activated the in-car phone system and speed-dialed Armitage.

==========

 _Please call me._  
_I need to talk to you!_  
_I need you._  
_Just text a fucking smiley if we’re good._  
_Did I do something wrong?_

He stared at the phone. He shouldn’t: Phasma had been so clear on that. Armitage looked at the man opposite. “Sorry, I have to get this. Family trouble.”  
The man nodded and Armitage got up and went outside the restaurant.

“Ben, are you okay?”  
_“Fuck! No! Armitage, he died. Right in front of me.”_  
“Who?”  
_”SNOKE!”_  
“Wait, wait...” Armitage grinned and walked in a small circle. “He’s dead?”  
_”YES! They’ll think I did it!”_  
“Stay calm, Ben. You’re going to be okay. Listen carefully.”  
_”Armitage, can you come and get me?”_  
“Listen! Are you calm? Deep breath. Are you listening to me?”  
A long sigh hissed and crackled through the phone.  
_”Okay.”_  
“When the police take your statement, tell them he was drinking a lot at dinner and after. You can show them the whisky bottle.”  
_”Okay.”_  
“You’re going to be okay.”  
_”He knew who I used to be. He was blackmailing me. I, um, pulped the photocopies he gave me but there have to be originals here somewhere.”_  
“Do not under any circumstances mention that to PC Plod! Only answer what they ask.”  
_”What about the memory card in his laptop? I left it there.”_  
“It’s fine. There won’t be anything left on it other than a few unfortunate photographs of Snoke and a prodigious amount of porn. Unamo fixed the CCTV footage of you alone in Snoke’s study so it looks as if you just sat there. Look, you might be in for a few rough days but I promise it will be okay. Okay?”  
_”Okay.”_  
“Good. Now, destroy your burner the way Phasma showed you. Tell the police your phone was stolen and you didn’t think it was worth reporting.”  
_”Okay.”_  
“Ben?”  
_”Uh?”_  
“I miss you.”

Armitage went back into the restaurant and sat down. He sighed and suppressed his smile as he looked at his dinner date. “I’m really sorry about this,” he said, “but I have to go.”

 

==========

At home, Ben Solo scrolled through his new life. _Kylo Ren_ was—would have been—the same age as him to within a few days. Kylo’s convincing but fictitious academic records matched his own reasonably well and he had a birth certificate, a passport, two bank accounts, a credit card and a driver’s licence. He even had a social security number and a letter from Inland Revenue informing him that he was due a small rebate and his tax code had been adjusted to compensate. Phasma and Unamo had been thorough. He shook his head and laughed at the memory of his conversation with Armitage over coffee that morning, the events of the past month already fading.  
_”So if I become Kylo Ren I have to be British. Do I need a voice coach?”_  
_”No, your accent is easy to explain since Unamo gave you a few childhood years in the midwest. Besides, I prefer being called ‘pumpkin pie’ to ‘arctic roll’ or ‘spotted dick.’”_  
He picked up his new phone to text Armitage and remembered that everything that used to be _Ben Solo_ had been purged. He was going to be Kylo Ren. He’d better get used to it.

_Hey my sweet eton mess - you coming home for dinner tonight? KR x_

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re not sure how Phasma and Hux managed to secure Snoke’s death, read the rest of the Sugar Daddy Hux fics. Snoke was not the first to die at their hands!


End file.
